A New Feeling
by SomeoneAlive
Summary: First fic! Story about young Erik and Madame Giry. Slight Erik/Giry, mostly Erik crushing. Rated T for mentions of attempted rape. Contains: fluff, cuteness ***CANCELLED***


Section 1 - Antoinette's Point of View (APOV):

Antoinette Lefévre, later to become Antoinette Giry, was at a circus. A gypsy circus. Her ballet mistress, Madame Maurier, had insisted that the girls get a glimpse of so-called "bad performing". Antoinette wasn't really sure if she would call this _bad_, maybe just vulgar and slightly scary. After all, she was only 12, and these bearded ladies and contortionists were unlike anything she had ever seen before. In the hustle and bustle of the crowd, Antoinette was pushed up right next to a fat, tall man. His beard was scraggly and reddish in the late afternoon sun, and his breath smelt strongly of alcohol. As he lifted his hand to put his whiskey bottle to his moustache-d lips, he caught sight of the girl, staring at him with disgust all over her pale, pretty face.

He cackled and called to her, his voice slurred heavily from drink, "'Ey 'ou! 'Ou 'ant da see sum-'n 'ese jok'rs don' 'ave? I be' yull 'ike it! Free 'o char'!" (**A/N** For those of you who had trouble deciphering that, this is what he meant: "Hey you! You want do see something these jokers don't have? I bet you'll like it! Free of charge!")

Antoinette wasn't someone to be fooled that easily, so she wrinkled her nose at the man, turned on her heel, and disappeared through a hole in the crowd. She was tall for her age, but her age was young which made it hard for her to see over the tops of peoples' heads. However, the rest of her ballet group was full of a bunch of squealing, giggling girls that were very easy to hear. Pushing past a woman who was great with child and a young boy who spit on her shoes, she made it to the clearing where her group was. Standing in the middle of the sparsely-grassed field, a ring of gypsy wagons around him, was a man dressed in evening clothes, with a top hat. However, his clothes were multi-colored and striped and spotted everywhere so that it was hard to look at him without cringing. The crowd was a mix of gypsies and spectators, young and old, men and women alike. Around Antoinette were Joan-Marie, a short, pale girl with fiery red hair and soft brown eyes, Clémence, an average-height blonde girl with blue-green eyes, and Henri, the only boy, who wasn't technically part of the group but he wanted to come anyway, who was short for his age – 14 (**A/N**, unless otherwise noted, children in the ballet group are between the ages of 9 and 16, with Joan-Marie being 13, and Clémence being 11, by the way, Erik is 11) – with maple-brown hair and sharp hazel eyes. The fat man from before could be seen across the crowd, calling out to a gypsy woman in a low-cut, deep red dress, who was yelling back at him and laughing. Both were encompassed by a group of drunken, laughing people – mostly gypsies, but the odd spectator or two was there as well.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Boys and Girls! Gather 'round and come see! Come see the show of shows, the spectacle of spectacles! I swear you won't be disappointed!"

Everyone, including Antoinette, looked up when the man in the crazy clothes started speaking. Several young women dressed rather inappropriately came forward along with a heavily muscled man. (**A/N,** inappropriately for the late 1800s. Picture a purple and gold bra-type-thing with drooping shoulder-straps and many beads covering it, with bells lining the bottom rim. A low-rising skirt made of slightly-sheer, drooping purple fabric. Gaudy necklaces and bracelets cover their bodies, and one of them has a gold nose-ring. Their feet are bare, with golden loops around their ankles.)

The man squats down next to the speaker in the middle, who pats his head affectionately.

"Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, you will get to witness a great feat of strength by Alfonso, our strong-man! He will attempt to lift these four girls, using only his arms. Can we get a little applause for Alfonso?"

A couple of men from the drunken crowd start jeering and laughing.

"Come, come, now, Ladies and Gentlemen! Some applause!"

This starts everyone clapping, albeit not enthusiastically. The 'ringleader' seemed to be disappointed for a flash, but is back to his over-cheerful mood quickly. Alfonso stands up fully now, and several of the girls around Antoinette gasp at how tall he is – nearly 7 feet. The gypsy women come and stand next to him, with two by each arm. Their dark complexion clashes strongly with Alfonso's pale, pasty skin and gleaming bald head. One by one, each woman is lifted up past Alfonso's head, each one earning a fresh round of applause. Alfonso is quaking with all of them up, but he pushes through it and jerks up, causing the women to bounce slightly off his arms, startling them. After copious amounts of applause and hoots from the crowd, Alfonso sets the women down all at once, quite roughly. When they stumble and one of them trips, they each get jeers and cat-calls from the drunken bit of the crowd. As they make their way towards the wagon where they came from, one man tosses a liqueur bottle at them. However, he was quite intoxicated and the bottle landed on the ground about a foot away from him, not hitting anybody. At this point, Joan-Marie starts swooning and saying how amazing Alfonso was, while Henri starts laughing with Clémence about the gypsy women, and how vulgar they were, which causes the rest of the ballet girls (not including Antoinette) to join in and start making fun of the gypsy women. Antoinette stops paying attention and the rest of the performance passes by for her in a daze. Several elephants passed by her, with monkeys riding them. A man swallowed some swords, and then spit fire. A woman folded herself into a box so small that many members of the crowd thought she would break a bone. At the end, the 'ringleader' bowed, and received the applause with gusto.

"Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, feel free to look around the wagons and see some of our less, ah, family-friendly items," the 'ringleader' said with a sly smile as he ducked out of the center and into some unseen wagon.

Antoinette looks around her as she is pushed and pulled from all directions by the crowd which had just started moving towards different wagons. Moving with the rest of her ballet group, Antoinette found herself looking up towards a large sign, written on with red paint, displaying the words she would remember for the rest of her life, '_**The Devil's Childe**_'.

(**A/N**: Yes, yes, I know. Originally, in Leroux's novel, he was called the 'Living Corpse'. I just like the sound of 'The Devil's Childe' better, so deal with it.)

Section 2 – Erik's Point of View (EPOV):

_Think of the worst group of people – according to society, not me – that you can and then formulate in your mind an image of them. Thinking of the gypsies? Of course you are. Now, imagine their caravan. Groups of wagons all hitched together forming a long, seemingly endless line. Find the dirtiest, the smelliest, most rotten-looking one. Basically, find the worst place to be. Then, within your mind, enter that wagon. Enter the living hell. Inside, you see a rusty cage, about the size fit for a lion or a tiger. Inside the cage there is a lump of flesh. You can't really make out what that lump is, because it is curled up on itself very tightly, as if defending itself from some attack. Slowly, ever so slowly, the lump lifts its head. You see that it is a human child…a boy, with an old potato sack over its head. The sack has a leering grin carved into it along with two small eye holes, where two shining golden orbs shine back at you. You cautiously approach the cage, because you are scared. They're always scared. Even the drunk, nasty, cruel ones are scared of me. Oh, yes. Did you not figure it out? That skinny, scrawny, scarred, beat-up little husk of a boy is me. Did you think it wouldn't have a mind? Not be capable of intelligent thought? Well, well, well. Not the first. Some believe I can think, but no one believes that I am capable of emotion. No one at all. No. one. at. __**ALL!**_

"Get up, _filth_, you've got company!"

Javert, the man who runs this wagon, spits on the ground by the cage. The spit is yellow and sour-smelling from the tobacco inside his mouth. It slowly seeps between the old, moldy straw on the ground and onto the termite-eaten boards of the floor. The floor begins to bounce ever so slightly as shoes, encasing feet, come thundering into the wagon. They pause momentarily at the entryway, as if pondering whether or not they actually want to enter. Then they make their way around a rusty cage, with the old, black paint peeling off in curling strips that fall on the floor to mingle with the rest of the dirt and filth on the ground. The shoes then stop, as the feet inside them stop, because the eyes connected to the feet, on which the shoes are placed, stare transfixed at the lump inside the cage. The lump does not move.

"I _said_ get _**UP**_, _filth!_"

Javert screams at the lump inside the cage. Many people gasp, as they did not expect the lump to be part of anything living, or anything that had lived recently at all. The lump slowly unfurls itself to reveal that it is a body. A body that's flesh is so scarred and bruised that it looks half dead. The body lifts its head to show that it is covered in a potato sack that looks and smells as if it's never been washed. From out of two eye-holes in the sack, two gleaming yellow orbs glint fiercely as they stare coldly at Javert. (**A/N**: I know, I know. I could just say 'eyes'. However, to many of the people in the crowd, the body in the cage does not look entirely human. Also, it is so beaten that it looks as if it almost couldn't be alive. As we all know, Erik's eyes are inhuman in appearance, so that is why I keep saying 'orbs' instead of 'eyes'. One last thing: while Erik wears his mask, I will not say that he is 'glaring' because you wouldn't be able to see his eyebrows, and eyebrows create most of the emotion that is visible on a human face. Alright, back to the story.)

Javert walks towards the cage, picking up a whip that was discarded on the floor after yesterday's show. While he walks, he smiles cruelly as he hears whispers of _freak of nature_, _monster_, _what is that thing?_ The body in the cage slowly backs up as he nears.

"What's the matter, _filth_? _Scared_ of me, are you? _Filth_ doesn't _have_ emotions! You think the _dirt under my shoes_ screams in pain? _No._ You think the _ass's filth_ cries out for mercy? (**A/N**: I used 'ass' for 'donkey', because that's what they called them in olden times.)_ No._ You think you are _better than them?!_ _That's right, filth," _Javert spat the last word with such venom that anyone standing close to him backed away quickly. The body in the cage didn't back up any farther. It crouched stiller than most believed humanly possible. No one dared to breathe in that wagon.

Javert slowly reached the cage. He put his hand out and opened the latch with a key that was considerably cleaner than the lock, or the cage for that matter. His cold, black eyes met with the yellow inside the cage. An almost electric feel of hate passed between the two. The yellow eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly in challenge. The black glinted fiercely as the cage door swung open.

Javert whispered softly, dangerously, "_Take off your mask._"

The body was still crouched as still as stone.

Javert raised the whip and brought it cracking down on the body's back.

Section 3 – APOV:

Antoinette had entered the wagon with everyone else, crowded around the cage with everyone else, and stared in fascination at the body in the cage with everyone else. However, when the body got whipped, she didn't laugh with everyone else. She had been pushed to the front of the crowd as they entered, and was standing with her face up against the cold metal of the cage.

The boy (for she now knew it was one) screamed out in pain as the laughter rose. Many people threw trash and glass bits at the boy. Someone even through a tomato, which landed on the boys shoulder and slowly slid down his arm, leaving a trail of reddish-clear goop. (**A/N**: Cliché, yes, but funny.)

Antoinette peered in sorrow at the boy in the cage. The big man closed in on him and ripped his mask off. The boy immediately, quicker than the blink of an eye, covered his face with his hands that were dripping with blood mixed with tomato. Those who had caught a glimpse of his face screamed, and backed up considerably. Most, however, hadn't seen it. The man closed in on him again and screamed, "_**SHOW THEM YOUR FACE!**_"

Anyone who hadn't been frightened before certainly was now. Even the bravest of people were still scared by a screaming mad-man.

The boy seemed frightened as well, if only slightly. He flinched visibly at the volume of sound and curled into a ball.

The man picked the boy up with one arm – the boy was skinny, Javert wasn't necessarily strong – and threw him against the cage walls. The impact caused the boys hands to fall from his face, which was contorting in pain.

Antoinette gasped and flinched slightly. It was horrible.

The boy's face was yellow-ish like the rest of him. His eyes were sunken in heavily, and glowed bright yellow, almost gold. His mouth was open, showing dirty teeth that were, for the most part, straight. His lips, however, were bloated, and the top one was twisted to the right side of his face. His nose was either so small that you couldn't see it, or was non-existent. In its place, there was a black gaping hole like that in a skull.

However, unlike most of the people who screamed and laughed at the boy, Antoinette couldn't bring herself to be frightened of him. Yes, he was ugly. _Oh, yes_, he was ugly. But he wasn't scary. Antoinette felt a twinge in her stomach that was something like…_pity_.

Her dark brown olive-colored eyes searched his face for something to be scared of.

His yellow eyes met hers.

Section 4 – EPOV (**A/N**: Italics means Erik's thoughts):

_Why? Why must they always come to see my __**face**__? I could show them some tricks, something like the other wagons have. They like those tricks. Why do they like my horrible, __**ugly**__ face more? __**Why?**__ They laugh. Of course they laugh. They always laugh. They laugh, or they scream. They either hate me, or are so frightened of me. So, __**so**__ frightened. Am I really that scary? I don't try to be scary. Honestly, I think Javert is scarier than me. I've seen many people scarier than myself. No one else seems to think so, though. I guess they're right. I'm a __**monster**__. Monsters deserve this. Javert said that I am a child of the Devil; that I can't be from God. I heard that old woman praying yesterday. She asked for things. They always seem to ask for things, like money, fame, love. _

_I wonder if __**I**__ could pray. I wonder if God would even listen to me. I bet he wouldn't, I'm a monster. __**Monster**__. _

_Monster._

_Monster._

_If I __**could**__ pray, I wouldn't ask for things. I wouldn't pressure God to give me anything like that at all. All I would ask for would be for someone, __**anyone**__, to see past my horrible face. See the person behind the __**monster**__. The __**human**__. _

_Am I human?_

_No one ever calls me that._

_I am filth, I am freak, I am __**monster**__. I am __**thing**__. I am __**'The Devil's Childe'**__. _

_**OW! **_(**A/N**: This is when Javert picks up Erik and slams him into the cage.)

_Javert says that monsters can't feel, but I can prove him wrong. Does that mean I'm not a monster? No, he probably just doesn't know what it's like being a monster. I bet monster aren't __**supposed**__ to feel. I'm even a bad monster. Can't I do anything right?_

_Look at these people. They hate me. They see me, they scream. I hurt, they laugh._

_Look at these girls. I bet they're my age. One of them looks slightly older, the blonde one, and the really short one looks a little younger. The boy next to them looks a couple years older. And the one with the black hair –_

_**NO! **_

(**A/N**: This is when Antoinette and Erik make eye contact. Javert continues to whip and beat him, but he is lost in his thoughts.)

_She…she…_

_I'm so useless. I can't even __**think**__ it!_

_She looked at me. Straight at me. She didn't scream, or laugh. She looked almost…_

_**Sad…**_

_Sad._

_I am always sad. I saw some spectators look sad when they don't get their refunds, and some gypsies look sad when they wake up. I didn't know that someone as carefree as she looks could __**be**__ sad. I didn't know it was possible. _

_She didn't scream. _

_She didn't laugh. _

_She was __**sad**__._

_Sad __**for**__ me? Sad __**because**__ of me? I hope not. I do make people scream and laugh and cry even, sometimes. But never, __**never**__ have I made someone look like that. Was that sad? People cry when they're sad. I make people cry, but usually they're so scared that they cry. _

_Ow._

_Javert finished early this time. __Whoopee__. _(**A/N**: Italics and underline = ultimate sarcasm voice)

_They're leaving. _

_My face hurts. I should get my mask. _

_Javert is leaving, good. He left my mask this time. I wonder if I'll get food..._

Erik looks around, spots his mask, and snatches it quickly as if it might run away. His pulls the sack down over his face and sighs softly, simultaneously in pain and relief. He sits facing the back of the wagon, away from the entrance. He pulls his knees up to his chest and hugs them with his arms, wincing slightly as his raw back protests the movement. As the noise dies down, he hears Javert talking with the liqueur man. _Oh, great. He might actually try it this time._ Overcome with emotion, Erik's usually sharp senses die down a bit as he feels his eyes stinging with tears. Swallowing over the lump in his throat, he begins to sing softly a gypsy lullaby.

(**A/N**: These following italics are song lyrics, not Erik's thoughts. By the way, the song is called "Child of the Wilderness" and it is featured during the 2004 _Phantom of the Opera_ movie featuring Gerard Butler.)

_Child of the wilderness_

_Born into emptiness_

_Learn to be lonely_

_Learn to find your way in darkness_

_Who will be there for you?_

_Comfort and care for you?_

_Learn to be lonely_

_Learn to be your one companion_

_Never dreamed out in the world_

_There are arms to hold you_

_You've always known your heart was on its own_

_So laugh in your loneliness_

_Child of the wilderness_

_Learn to be lonely_

_Learn how to love life that is lived alone_

_Learn to be lonely_

_Life can be lived, life can be loved alone_

A single tear flowed down Erik's cheek. He had heard gypsy mothers sing this song to their children many times, and the unsuspecting baby would smile because it didn't know what the words meant. Now that Erik knew, it killed him inside. This was _his_ song.

Tears start to flow more rapidly and Erik began to cry softly, trying to make as little noise as possible.

What he didn't know, however, was that hidden behind a curtain in the wagon, stood Antoinette Lefévre, eyes tearing up with pity for this poor boy.

Both children were startled out of their sorrow by the sudden and loud entrance of Javert. He was heavily intoxicated, and was swaying where he stood. He barely managed to unlock the cage, and stumbled inside.

Heavily slurred words came from his mouth:

"'Ou! 'Ake off 'er cloes! 'Ow!" (**A/N**: Translation: "You! Take off your clothes! Now!")

Erik froze at the words. He slowly inched backwards towards the wall where Javert kept his whip, and which was the farthest from where Javert was standing now.

Antoinette's eyes widened significantly when she heard the drunken man come in. Her mind raced with questions as to what the man wanted the boy to do.

Javert stumbled ever closer to the horrified Erik. He – Javert – started slurring incoherently, and swayed violently towards the left. Erik scooted ever farther away from him, his mind racing:

_No. No. No. No. Nonononononono._

_What do I do? WhatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdo?!_

Javert reached forward and ripped the ratty trousers from Erik's skinny body, earning a muffled cry of horror from Erik.

Antoinette was peering through the curtain as – due to the light – it was sheer on her side but she couldn't be seen by others. She put a hand to her mouth in shock and horror. She had heard about these sorts of things from some of the older ballerinas, but had never actually witnessed them. Her mind went numb in mute terror for the boy as she sent up wordless prayers to God to please, _please_ help him.

Erik was sitting frozen on the floor of the cage. His chest was heaving rapidly as all that was there to protect him from losing what little was left of his purity was a pair of thin, moth-eaten underpants.

Javert grinned drunkenly at the terrified Erik sitting on the floor. He reached down to remove his (Erik's) underpants when he lurched dangerously to one side. His eyes went glassy and he lost consciousness for a moment. He hit his head on the cage side and regained consciousness, but only slightly. He was still awake enough to see Erik, who was taking this opportunity to reach behind him and grab the whip that was hanging on a nail behind him, but not enough that he could do anything about it.

Erik's fast fingers looped the whip around Javert's neck and, with a moment or two of hesitation, yanked the whip tighter so that it cut off his breathing. Now it was Javert's turn to stare in horror.

"I'm sorry," Erik whispered quietly.

It was done.

Section 5 – APOV:

Antoinette couldn't believe her eyes. First, she was witnessing an attempted _rape_, and now an attempted _murder!_

She froze.

The boy whispered in his ghostly voice, "I'm sorry," and then –

Scratch out _attempted_ murder.

She had just witnessed a _murder_.

Her heart beat rapidly, trying to find ways to justify or condemn the scrawny figure she was staring at. She realized that yes, this was murder, but the man had just attempted to _rape_ him, and he _beat_ and _whipped_ him _every day_! No matter how hard she tried to condemn the boy she just couldn't. What else could he have done? She made a choked, whimpering sound and then froze –

He had seen her.

His yellow eyes met her olive ones and they both froze, her with her hand still over her mouth and him dropping the whip.

By instinct, it seemed, his hands flew to his face to check that his mask was on. Next, to his legs, which were still bare from the lack of trousers. As he realized this, he seemed mortified, and the visible parts of his neck and shoulders flushed a deep crimson red. He fumbled around the cage and found his pants, struggling to put them on quick enough in the tight space. After he'd put them on, he turned very slowly towards Antoinette, who had lowered her hand and was cautiously approaching the cage.

Their eyes met.

An unspoken agreement seemed to pass between the two – neither would speak of it again, _ever_.

Still, though, Antoinette got closer and closer to the frightened boy in the cage. She got closer, he backed up. This continued until his back was against the wall of the cage. He flinched visibly in pain as the raw cuts from the whip came into contact with the rusted bars of the cage.

Antoinette put her hand on a bar of the cage. Ever so softly, as if even a whisper would start an alarm going off, she whispered, "I won't hurt you."

The boy was still scared; _terrified_ it seemed, of her. She slowly put her hand on the door to the cage. She opened it. He stared at her it horror.

Section 6 – EPOV:

_What is she doing? She saw it, she saw me, __**whatisshedoing?!**_

A choked cry of horror passed through his lips, his mask making it sound muffled.

The girl kept getting closer. Erik pressed his stinging back farther into the cage wall, making him gasp.

The girl stopped, hesitated, for a moment.

Then she spoke again:

"I can help that."

She held out a hand towards Erik. He eyed it in mute terror.

She crawled through the cage towards him. He didn't even try to back up anymore, as it was pointless and painful.

She looked him straight in the eye and said, softly but firmly, "I won't hurt you."

She seemed to be slightly agitated at his terror of her. However, she remained patient and calm.

"My name is Antoinette Lefévre. I am 12 years old. I currently live at the Paris Opera House, where I take ballet from Madame Maurier. I am a good practicing Catholic. There. Now, you know me. You can trust me. With God as my witness, I will tell you again: _I will not hurt you_."

Erik stared at her in fascination and awe. _She didn't scream! She didn't laugh! She says she won't hurt me! But…others have said that…Javert said that once. I shouldn't trust her. No one likes monsters. Not even __**her**__. She does seem a bit bossy, though. I don't think she'll leave me alone. Should I tell her my name? What will she do to me? She seems a bit older than me, but much more mature. Can I trust her? I don't want to scare her. I don't want –_

"Would you like to tell me _your_ name?"

The girl – Antoinette – startled him out of his internal conflict. He froze.

_Oh, what the heck._

"Erik," he whispered so, _so_ softly. More like breathing than speaking.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear that. Care to repeat it?"

Antoinette stared at him with an eyebrow raised and eyes that were shining with slight amusement.

"Erik," he repeated, still very quiet, but audible.

She smiled. _She smiled! _A rush of joy flooded Erik's mind as he comprehended what just happened. He told her his name and _she smiled!_ He almost, _almost_ smiled as well.

Still smiling, she asked, "So, Erik" _She said my name! She's smiling! She's smiling and said my name!_ "How old are you?"

With his wave of joy still crashing over his mind, he didn't even think twice about answering her, "Eleven, I think."

She smiled again, broader this time. Then, she _grinned at him! She grinned!_

This time, Erik could not help the smile coming to his face. He relaxed his overly-tense body and stopped pressing himself so hard against the back of the cage.

Both children were soon awakened from their happy little meeting when shouts were heard from outside the wagon:

"Where's Javert?" "I think he went in with the _freak_!" "I bet he's killed 'im!"

Antoinette and Erik froze.

Section 7 – APOV:

_Good Lord above. Today just keeps getting worse. You must think I'm really strong, Lord, because I don't know how I'm going to do this at __**all**__._

Looking around her wildly, Antoinette saw that there was a small back-entrance to the wagon that opened out into the streets. Putting her finger to her lips, she motioned for Erik to follow her out the other side.

Shooing Erik through the doorway, she caught a glimpse of the big, fat man from before, still as drunk as could be.

Praying that he couldn't see them, she rushed out the door, stumbling onto the cobblestone streets that were dark and cold by now, as the sun had set around 30 minutes ago.

She looked around, trying to remember how to get back to the Opera House from here, and hoping that in the rush of the crowds, her ballet group wouldn't miss her.

Spotting a familiar street, she grabbed Erik's hand and pulled him along after her. They stumbled over puddles and turned sharp corners around red brick buildings that loomed over their heads in the fading light. Pausing to let a carriage pass them by, Antoinette looked and spotted the Opera House.

Unfortunately, _someone_ was waiting for them.

"Get over here, you _scum_!"

Both children turned around quickly and started bolting for the back of the Opera House, where the stables and maid-entrances were. Three or four stable-men called out to Antoinette, asking her where the _hell_ she was going and who _was_ that slimy creature with her.

Coming to a big, wooden door meant for leading horses in to the stage, Antoinette paused, motioning for Erik to stay still and be quiet. She peered over the side of the door as she lugged at the handle, opening it about as far as her nose was long. Her dark eyes widened when she saw that the new stage-hand boy, Joseph Buquet, was standing _right on the other side of the door!_ He was talking with one of the older ballerinas, and both seemed quite intoxicated. Joseph's back was to the door, and the ballerina was facing it, but she wasn't very tall so Joseph's hat blocked the view of Antoinette from her glazed eyes. Antoinette looked around her, and saw a large stone, maybe about the size of her fist. Picking it up, she tossed it slowly to get the feel of it, before hurling it over Joseph and the ballerina's heads. Landing in the case of beer that was behind them, it smashed several of the bottles. However, since both were nearly passed out, they didn't see where the rock came from, so they ran off into the theatre to go get more drink.

"Come on!"

Antoinette grabbed Erik's hand again and slipped into the slimy corridor that was filled with horse droppings and bits of straw.

First left, then left again, swing right past the old _Romeo and Juliet_ scene, climb up the stairs to stage-level, up one more flight to the dormitories and the chapel. Straight down the hallway and down the winding stairs into the chapel, Antoinette went, pulling Erik behind her.

Coming into the main room, she paused to look up at the ceiling and walls where pictures of angels were painted onto the otherwise foreboding stone. Looking at the cross on the wall, she crossed herself and said a quick Hail Mary. (**A/N**: I'm not Catholic, so I don't actually know if this is how you would do it, but Antoinette is doing it. Just roll with it, people.)

Turning back around, she closed the soft, oak door quietly. Facing Erik, she took a deep breath and said, "Ok. So… Um…this is the chapel, in case you haven't noticed. We passed my dorm on the way here – it was the third one on the left, with the lily painted on the door. Over here –"

She walked over to a stained glass window with a metal grate behind it, and pushed some unseen lever, which caused the window and the grate to swing towards her and reveal a wet, stone passageway, which from where Antoinette was standing facing it, went forward for about 3 feet, then turned sharply left and downwards.

She turned around and faced Erik again.

"Now, down this passageway you will find a lake. Across that lake is a cave, but you have to get passed the gate first. To get passed the gate, you press the shiny and blue rock that is directly above it. First, though, we need to get you cleaned up."

Antoinette blushed slightly at the words, because she had never really bathed anyone before, let alone a _boy_. Still, though, it had to be done.

"You can use the male ballerinas' bathroom in my dorm because we don't have any boys, so it would be free for you to use. I can show you it, but we have to be careful. I'll get the soap from my things and then come back here for you, okay?"

Erik nodded mutely.

"Ok," Antoinette breathed out, turning once more towards the door.

She opened it slowly, checking if anyone was near, and then slipped out into the dark passageways.

Section 8 – EPOV:

_I can't __**believe**__ I am doing this. I am __**so**__ stupid! She could be an axe-murderer for all I know! What if this is all a trap to fatten me up and get me nice and tender like a cow for her to chop up and eat for dinner! Or, what if she leads me down that passage and locks me up, doesn't feed me and I die from starvation! She could be telling people about me __**right now**__ for all I know! How could I be this stupid! This girl smiles at me and I go all mushy and soft and __**trusting**__. I even told her my __**name**__! What on __**Earth**__ is wrong with me! I think I may have hallucinated. The shock of killing Javert must have left me with some brain damage. I bet I'm back in my cage, sleeping, and this is all a dream. A crazy, twisted dream, but a dream nonetheless. But why would I dream this? I bet it's some form of punishment. I tried praying and this is what I get. An angel from the __**devil**__! What else should I expect? I am __**The Devil's Childe**__, after all. What if the soap she's getting is actually __**poisoned?!**__ I bet I'll die tonight. I've always known it was coming, but __**oh man**__ this is way worse. She might drown me, chop me up into little bite-size pieces, and __**eat me for dinner**__! She's scary enough to do it. Oh, __**man**__ is she scary. … Her smile is nice, though. Her smile…I still can't believe she smiled at me. This __**definitely**__ must be a dream. A dream with a crazy siren-angel-devil-girl who's come to lure me into this place and kill me. But she smiled. This is all worth it. She __**smiled**__ at me. At __**me**__! I wonder if she likes me. I bet she doesn't. Who would love a monster. But…she didn't scream. She didn't laugh. She looked sad when she saw me. Who knows? She might __**like**__ me. Heh. Even if she is an axe-murderer, she is kind of pretty. Scary, but pretty all the same. And her __**smile**__. She __**smiled**__ at me. Not a cruel, wicked smile like Javert used to do, but a pretty, sweet smile that makes you feel all happy inside. I wonder if she would like it if __**I**__ smiled at __**her**__. I bet she wouldn't. Javert said that monsters aren't supposed to be happy. They shouldn't smile. She'll kill me, but maybe right before I can ask her if she'll smile at me one last time before I die. That would be nice. It would make it completely worth it. I've never fancied someone before but I bet this is what it feels like. I wonder if she fancies me…? No. No one can fancy a monster, let alone __**like**__ them! I'm crazy. I probably do have brain damage. No one would like a monster. She probably only smiled at me to trick me into coming here so she can kill me. _

Erik was interrupted out of his long stream of thoughts by the door slowly creaking open and Antoinette, with a bar of off-white soap in her hand, slipped through into the chapel.

"I got the soap, let's go."

_She smiled._

Section 9 – APOV:

Antoinette led Erik through the hallways and into the dormitory bathroom. It was rather large, with plush chairs in the corners and a large, ornate bathtub to the one side. Turning the knobs to 'hot', Antoinette broke a chunk off of her soap and plopped it into the water, making bubbles start to form. (**A/N**: Original bubble-bath, people.)

"Here, take your clothes off – sorry, not like that – and get in the water. I'll wash off your clothes while you're in there. Got it?"

Erik nodded, a faint blush covering his neck and shoulders as Antoinette turned around and faced the wall.

Antoinette wasn't really sure how she would do it, but she wanted, _needed_ to wash off that filthy sack of his. _It really can't be that sanitary to have that thing on your face._

"You done?" she asked when she heard a faint _plop_ of water.

A very soft _mmhmm_ answered her, and she turned around.

The bathtub was quite big, because this was the men's bathroom and they were typically taller than the women, so there was quite enough room for Antoinette to scrub away years' worth of grime and dirt off of Erik's clothes while Erik himself settled down in the warm, soapy water.

"You know, you can take off that mask. I don't mind."

With a glance towards Erik out of the corner of her eye, she saw him freeze completely still.

The only sounds that could be heard were those of Antoinette washing Erik's clothes, and Antoinette's soft breathing.

Then, quick as a flash, Erik turned around and faced the wall away from Antoinette. Reaching up, he pulled the mask away from his face, letting his matted hair fall down. It was an oak-y sort of color, that was really very dirty, but Antoinette could tell that it would shine golden when clean. It was slightly long, for a boy, but really only fell to his eyebrows.

Erik passed the mask behind him towards Antoinette and curled into a ball, hiding his face from her. Antoinette quickly cleaned the dirty mask, and set it with the rest of the now-clean clothes to dry. She reached out her hand and tapped Erik's shoulder, causing him to flinch away on instinct.

"I already said I wouldn't hurt you. And I've seen your face before, you know. I really, _truly_ don't mind, God's my witness."

With that, she remembered the whip-wounds on Erik's back, face, and arms. Taking the rest of the bar of soap and a wash-cloth, she slowly pressed it onto his filthy back, causing him to hiss in pain and curl into a tighter ball. Slowly, Antoinette washed away the dirt and blood all over him. She even washed his hair. Pulling the tiny boy towards her, she took his head in her hands and slowly lifted his face to her, which still had dirt and blood all over it.

Seeing Erik scrunch his face up in defense of the expected rejection that was to come made Antoinette feel real pity for him. However, that wouldn't stop her from her job. She was going to clean this boy if it was the last thing she'd do.

She grabbed the soapy wash-cloth and started cleaning his face. After about a minute, he was clean everywhere. (**A/N**: No, she didn't clean anywhere below his waist or above his knees, but those bits were soaking in the water, so _yes_ he was clean.)

Grabbing a fluffy white towel from the towel rack, she handed it to Erik, who was in awe of what he looked like clean, because he hadn't been so in over 3 years.

Antoinette turned around as he got out, and heard a quiet, "Thank you, Antoinette" from behind her.

She smiled.

_She smiled!_


End file.
